Summer's Sister

A chilly New England morning greets me with a full body embrace as I step out of the car. The wind gently runs its fingers through my hair as the breeze quietly whispers to me of sweet nothings. I close my eyes momentarily and inhale the sweet smell of morning dew, dying marigolds, and fallen, decaying leaves, all of which combining into one distinct, familiar smell of autumn. The light blue, September skies are much more picturesque than the skies of spring or summer mornings. They're much less harsh with muted yet vibrant blues. You could even say they're somewhat comforting, too, I suppose. Perhaps, this is because fall is often a time of dying for most living things, like a final yet bittersweet farewell to all those who aren't fit to survive another winter. Maybe it wants these older, weaker creatures to see the world as they did when they first opened their eyes; new, happy, welcoming, a pleasant distraction for them as they wait out their final days. Or, perhaps, fall's exquisite beauty is for nothing more than to spite all those who took it for granted. For, it's those ordinary, boring, seemingly lifeless autumn days that remind you that while you continue to breathe, there will always be one living thing that perishes, seemingly unnoticed beneath the red and orange leaves of life.